“The Commission had reason to believe your father, the boss, wasn’t behind the Lucciano actions. They chose me to infiltrate the Lucciano outfit and find out what was going on. I have somewhat of a portfolio of investigative work, making me ideal for these kinds of operations.”
“If you weren’t sure who the boss was, how did you know to target me?”
“Some investigative work and a little luck. I followed Sal to Triton one day, and I knew your dad had met with the Gallo man before his death. It was too big of a coincidence—if your father wasn’t the boss, he was at least someone high up. I spent a couple days studying who went in and out of Triton and decided to see if you could get me the info I needed.” His lips pulled up in a smirk. “I decided mixing business with pleasure would make the job less cumbersome.”
He picked me because he’d wanted me. “You didn’t know I was Enzo’s daughter?”
He slowly shook his head. “Just got lucky.” His eyes heated, and my heart skipped a beat. “Not until you told me about your Uncle Sal did the pieces fall into place. You’re in danger, Alessia. The things that have gone on have made the other families bloodthirsty. If we aren’t careful, we’ll have an all-out war on our hands.”
“I don’t understand. I just talked to Maria earlier, and she said it’s not like that anymore.”
“Most of the time it’s not, but trouble’s brewing. I can’t guarantee what will happen. I’ve turned over the information I uncovered to the Commission—they call the shots, not me.” He stepped closer, making a move to reach for me, but I pulled away.
“No, Luca,” I insisted firmly, holding up my hand. “I’m not ready, and I don’t know that I’ll ever be. None of this is what I wanted for myself. I’m still trying to figure out how I feel and where to go from here.”
His jaw twitched and flexed as he mulled over my words. “I won’t push you for now, but you better not block mynumber, and youwillanswer if I text or call. Those are my conditions—take it or leave it.”
“And if I don’t agree?” I asked with a touch of sass.
“I could always kidnap you and keep you at my place. I know you’ll be safe there.” His eyes danced with challenge, begging me to try him.
“Fine,” I said insolently.
Before I could argue, he yanked me to him and placed a warm kiss on my forehead. “I know you’re pissed, and this is a lot to take in, so I’m giving you some space. Don’t mistake that for me walking away. This thing between us—it’s not over.” With those parting words, he let himself out and disappeared down the hall.
I locked the door, then leaned back against it, wondering at the twists and turns of life. One minute, life is black and white, and the next thing you know, there are only shades of grey. Sometimes, that change occurs slowly—the death of one stage in your life setting in like an insidious virus. Other times, change comes about dizzyingly quick like the sudden drop of a guillotine—blinding and altering reality until life is unrecognizable.
At least when change is a slow progression, the memories of where you started are grainy and distorted, your new reality the only clear picture remaining. When change is sudden and violent, it creates an open wound that is a glaring reminder of how things were, the images still fresh in your mind.
The other problem with sudden change is there’s no undoing it.
Once it’s done, there’s no going back.
I couldn’t undo the knowledge my father was a criminal any more than I could rid the stars from the sky. Not just theknowledge of what he did, but his actions themselves. The fact that he was a mobster would never change. I could pack up and leave, but they would still be my family, and my dad would still be a criminal.
Not just my dad—nearly my entire family.
The most upsetting part about starting a new life would be the searing pain of losing Luca. His relentless campaign had worn me down, and not even the fact he had used me for information could douse my desire for him. I didn’t think there was one defining moment when he’d stolen my heart, but piece-by-piece, with each stolen kiss and whispered caress, the criminal had absconded with a part of my soul.
I had known from the beginning he would leave me in shreds, but there’d been no stopping it. He’d battered my defenses like the blowing desert winds softening the edges of sandstone towers—my own pieces swept off in his punishing winds until there was no telling where one of us began, and the other ended.
Making the decision to leave my family would be hard enough, but adding Luca into the mix was gut-wrenching. If I rejected my family’s way of life, he would be lost to me, and that hurt more than any of the lies I’d been forced to swallow. If I chose to accept him, and therefore, my family, my life would be forever lies.
CHAPTER 21
LUCA
I followedAlessia to her parent’s house on Sunday to learn where they lived but had yet to approach her father. I hadn’t been certain I was going to tell her about her father’s position, but she had forced the issue. Once she had confronted him about his mafia affiliation, I knew it was time to talk to him myself. That had never been a part of the plan, but I’d dug myself in a hole and needed to find a way out.
I was about ninety-five percent sure the information I had to offer Enzo would be news to him, which meant there was a five percent chance I was about to getmyself killed. Enzo Genovese was most likely pissed I had unmasked him to his daughter, but hopefully, my crime would be forgiven if what I was about to tell him was accurate.
It was a Wednesday evening, and the affluent neighborhood was quiet. I had watched Enzo’s car pull up an hour earlier and had been procrastinating ever since. It wasn’t like me, but I was about to do one of the most reckless things I’d ever done. Wiping my sweaty palms on my slacks, I exited the car to confront Don Genovese about his corrupt underboss.
I rang the bell, looking straight into the security camera. It was crucial I conveyed nothing but the utmost confidence. In my world, fear would get a man killed as fast as any bullet.
Enzo himself opened the door in black slacks and a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had short salt-and-pepper hair with a neatly trimmed matching beard. Seeing him on the street, you would think nothing of him—just a man like any other—but you would be dead wrong. Enzo Genovese held a fifth of New York City in the palm of his hand. He was no one to be trifled with.
“I suppose you’re the man my daughter’s been seeing?” He was astute and direct, both qualities I appreciated.
